At secondary school, we had an art teacher by the name of Doherty, whom everyone referred to as John Dox. John Dox claimed to his pupils that he had been a member of the Special Boat Service (SBS) during the War. He often regaled us with tales of his time in the SBS. On one occasion, he told us how to kill an attacking dog. Apparently, you wait until the dog is almost upon you. Then you grab both its front legs and pull them apart until its heart bursts. On account of our working-class upbringing, we were all as cynical as fuck. “Aye, right,” was what we whispered to each other.
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